


everybody's lover is covered in scars

by theglitterati



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, M/M, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 20:49:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5348069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theglitterati/pseuds/theglitterati
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Grantaire starts. “But I wanted to ask…” He trails off then, trying to find the right words.</p><p>“…why I won’t take my shirt off when we have sex?” Enjolras finishes for him, blunt as ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	everybody's lover is covered in scars

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Plain Sailing Weather" by Frank Turner.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

It’s a warm Saturday evening, a breeze playing in the open windows, and Enjolras and Grantaire are collapsed together on the couch. They’ve just arrived home from a dinner date at the new Mexican restaurant down the block from Grantaire’s apartment.

“Sure,” Enjolras says lazily, turning his head on Grantaire’s chest so that he’s looking up at him. “What’s up?”

Grantaire twirls his finger around one of Enjolras’s curls, unsure how to broach the topic. It’s something he’s been waiting to say for a while now, but it needs to be said delicately.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he starts. “But I wanted to ask…” He trails off then, trying to find the right words.

“…why I won’t take my shirt off when we have sex?” Enjolras finishes for him, blunt as ever.

Grantaire freezes. “I’m sorry if I’m being nosy,” he says in a rush. “It’s just, it’s been two months now that we’ve been together, and you never want me to touch you under your shirt, and I just wondered—”

“It’s okay, Grantaire,” Enjolras interrupts. “I can’t blame you for being curious. Actually, I’m surprised you lasted this long without asking – no one else ever has.”

Grantaire feels guilty now for bringing it up. “You really don’t have to tell me,” he says, backpedaling.

“No, I want to,” Enjolras says, sitting up, so that he’s facing Grantaire on the couch. “Actually, I want to show you. But it’s kind of hard for me; no one else in our group knows, and I’ve never showed anyone in the past, either.”

“Just promise you won’t freak out and leave or something?”

Grantaire nods vehemently. Enjolras could be hiding the entrance to Hell under his shirt and Grantaire still wouldn’t go. Also, they’re in Grantaire’s own apartment, so he doesn’t really have anywhere _to_ go.

Enjolras pulls his t-shirt up so that it’s caught around his shoulders, then turns his head away from Grantaire.

“So… yeah,” he mutters feebly.

Enjolras’s entire chest is covered in burn scars – or rather, one large burn scar, as there’s no distance between them. The skin is more damaged in some spots than others; sometimes wrinkled and spoiled, sometimes just a faded red. The scar runs all the way from his navel to just below his collarbone, growing wider the higher it gets, ending in a jagged burst. Grantaire thinks that it looks like the shape of a bouquet of flowers.

“Can I?” Grantaire asks softly, reaching out his hand.

“No,” Enjolras snaps, pulling his shirt back down.

“Sorry,” Grantaire mumbles back. “How did it happen?”

“My mother was boiling water on the stove when I was three,” Enjolras says, still decidedly avoiding Grantaire’s eye line. “She turned away for a minute, and I pulled the pot down. It was just an accident.”

“Oh,” Grantaire says softly. “Did it hurt really badly?”

“I don’t remember, R, I was three,” Enjolras says, rolling his eyes.

“Oh,” Grantaire repeats. Then he says: “Why were you so worried to show me?”

“Because I endured enough teasing at pool parties when I was younger to teach me that it’s better to keep my shirt on,” Enjolras replies.

“But there’s nothing wrong with you,” Grantaire says. “It’s just a scar. You’re not usually one to let others frighten you like that.”

Grantaire’s having trouble trying to come to terms with the idea that Enjolras, golden, beautiful, _perfect_ Enjolras could actually be self-conscious about something. Grantaire might be, if it were him that was scarred like that, but Enjolras is much braver than Grantaire.

Enjolras’s eyes darken. “You have to pick your battles. People’s words hurt more when they’re personal,” he says. He looks like he might be second-guessing the decision to ever show Grantaire.

Grantaire doesn’t want to push him anymore; he wants to make the darkness in Enjolras’s eyes go away. “Come here?” he asks, holding his arms open. Enjolras still looks wary, but he comes anyway, settling so that his hair tickles Grantaire’s chin.

“We don’t have to talk about it anymore,” Grantaire says, “but I’m glad you trusted me enough to tell me. I’m not going anywhere; I still think you’re the hottest thing since sliced bread, scars and all. And I’m obviously not ever going to make you do something in bed that you don’t want to do, so I won’t ask you about taking your shirt off again. Honestly, having sex with you is already mind-blowing enough, I probably couldn’t even handle it.”

Grantaire hopes that he’s gotten the message across; he needs Enjolras to know that this doesn’t change anything. He plants a kiss to the top of his head for good measure.

“Sliced bread isn’t hot, so your metaphor sucks,” is all Enjolras says in reply, but when he turns to face Grantaire, there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

***

Later, Enjolras lays on the bed, hair spread across the pillow, tired after finishing Grantaire off, while Grantaire takes Enjolras’s cock in his mouth. After a moment or two, Enjolras grabs Grantaire’s hands, and guides them to the hem of his shirt.

Grantaire pulls off of Enjolras and looks up, questioning.

“You can touch, if you want,” Enjolras says quietly. “I still want to keep my shirt on – I don’t like looking at it – but you can touch me.”

“Are you sure you want me to?” Grantaire asks seriously.

Enjolras nods. “I trust you,” he says simply.

Grantaire stays silent, slipping his mouth back into its former position. He toys at the hem of the shirt for a few minutes, in case Enjolras wants to change his mind. When he whispers again that Grantaire has permission to touch him, Grantaire slides his fingers up.

He moves slowly, avoiding the burned part of the skin at first and sticking to Enjolras’s sides. But that makes him squirm from ticklishness, so Grantaire slides his hands over Enjolras’s pockmarked stomach instead, still working him with his mouth.

The skin feels rough and leathery in some areas, and normal in others. Grantaire moves gingerly, knowing that the scars are twenty years old but still afraid that he might hurt him. But Enjolras hums softly at the touch, so Grantaire keeps moving upward.

When he takes one of Enjolras’s nipples between his fingers, Enjolras gasps in pleasure, and Grantaire smiles as well as he can with Enjolras’s cock down his throat. He knew that Enjolras enjoyed this, as he had done it many times over his shirt, but the skin-on-skin sensation must be much better. He takes both nipples in his fingers and pulls at them, Enjolras whining at the touch.

“I’m close,” Enjolras warns Grantaire breathily, but Grantaire doesn’t pull off as usual, instead deciding to give his boyfriend a treat this time. He swallows him down as Enjolras comes with a shudder and Grantaire’s name on his lips.

As a benefit, there’s nothing to clean up, so Grantaire crawls up the bed immediately to lay down beside Enjolras.

“Did that feel good?” he asks, not referring to the blowjob.

Enjolras smiles a shy little grin. “Very good. It was very… intimate.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. No one’s touched me there before. I feel like a blushing virgin.”

They both laugh.

“I’m glad I showed you,” Enjolras says, more seriously. “And I’m happy that I let you touch me. There’s no one else I would have wanted to do that with other than you.”

“Good,” Grantaire says, pulling him into a hug.

“I mean, I think you’re basically the greatest thing since sliced bread, Grantaire,” Enjolras adds, teasing. “And I actually got the metaphor right.”

“Shut up,” Grantaire laughs, moving in to blow a raspberry on Enjolras’s neck. “It’s the thought that counts, okay?”

Enjolras giggles. He looks utterly content. “Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to beta extraordinaire [Carol](http://ronnlynch.tumblr.com) for reading this right in the middle of working on her final assignments!


End file.
